


Talking Like I'm Falling Down Stairs

by bloodscout



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Bipolar Disorder, Bipolar Viktor Nikiforov, Canon Compliant, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Depression, Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Married Couple, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 09:25:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11159007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodscout/pseuds/bloodscout
Summary: Today, it is all Viktor can to do bundle the blankets around himself, and lie there in that painful place between sleeping and waking. He cannot get out of bed, not even to reach the remote in the bedside drawer to turn the TV on to something mindless and distracting, not even to get something to eat when he starts to become too aware of the emptiness of his stomach. Instead, from the time that Yuuri leaves for his morning run to the time he gets back from off-ice conditioning at the gym, Viktor lies in bed and stares at the walls.





	Talking Like I'm Falling Down Stairs

**Author's Note:**

> i live and breathe for bipolar!viktor. i wanted to write some mania in this fic but there wasn't the space for it. all experiences are my own and are by no means meant to represent everyone who has bipolar.  
> some family headcanons come from the wonderful fic [undertow](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9344666) by mhalachai but i may be misremembering parts  
> the tea thing comes from my absolute favourite yuri on ice fic, [comfort zone](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10321634) by bertholdvonmoosburg  
> title from the song of the same name by sparkadia

June is always a difficult month for Viktor. He makes the trip to his father’s grave early in the month, and spends the rest of the month sifting through the tangled mess of grief and rejection and anger. He doesn’t want to resent his father, but sometimes he gets very, very close. The memory of being freshly sixteen and suddenly alone leaves a bitter taste on his tongue, and Viktor has to struggle against the instinct to lay blame. Yet it still hurts, missing him. Of course it does. He doesn’t think it will ever stop hurting. This June is particularly bad, what with Viktor’s recent retirement. He feels untethered by it all, easily buffeted by the lightest of winds.

 

Today, it is all Viktor can to do bundle the blankets around himself, and lie there in that painful place between sleeping and waking. He cannot get out of bed, not even to reach the remote in the bedside drawer to turn the TV on to something mindless and distracting, not even to get something to eat when he starts to become too aware of the emptiness of his stomach. Instead, from the time that Yuuri leaves for his morning run to the time he gets back from off-ice conditioning at the gym, Viktor lies in bed and stares at the walls. Usually, he loves the shade of blue, loves that it was the first thing that Yuuri changed about the spacious apartment. Now, he feels nothing when he looks at the paint, just a numbness radiating out from his chest. When the clock creeps past 4pm, all of his accomplishments for the day can be counted on two fingers: that he manages to stare at his phone screen for a few minutes at a time, although all the while frustrated that nothing manages to hold his attention, and that he gets up to go to the bathroom after lying in discomfort for a solid half hour. The germ of a thought that has been with him all day begins to grow in earnest, and he is suddenly certain that Yuuri is not going to come home. Yuuri has decided that Viktor is not worth his time, that Viktor is worthless and washed-up, and Yuuri is already on his way back to Japan. He doesn’t want to look at the clock any longer, because every second that passes is a second closer to realizing that Yuuri has left him for good. Tears start to roll down his face, and Viktor doesn’t have any reason to wipe them away, so he lets them dampen the pillow he is lying on. Mucus dribbles unattractively from his nose, but he can’t find it in him to care.

 

This is how Yuuri finds him, curled in on himself, with tear-stained cheeks and red eyes. Yuuri falls to his knees at the edge of the bed, cupping Viktor’s face in his hands.

 

“Oh, Vitya, love, what’s wrong?” He rubs his thumbs along Viktor’s cheekbones, spreading dampness across the skin.

 

“You’re home.” Is all that Viktor says, disbelief plain in his tone.

 

“Yeah, Vitya, I’m home. It’s 5 o’clock, I’m always home at 5 o’clock.”

 

“I didn’t–” Viktor raises his gaze from Yuuri’s chest to look his husband in the eyes. The worry present there makes him rethink his sentence. “I wasn’t looking at the clock.”

 

Yuuri nods, and presses a kiss to Viktor’s forehead. “I’m going to get your lamictal, okay? I assume you haven’t taken it yet?”

 

Viktor croaks out a “No.” and then Yuuri’s hands are no longer cradling his face, and he is alone again. He has to squeeze his eyes shut to stop tears from spilling over again – he doesn’t want Yuuri to see how pathetic and needy he is.

 

Yuuri is gone for longer than it should take to get a box of medication from the kitchen cupboard, but he returns with a steaming mug of tea. There is a smirk playing on his lips.

 

Viktor peeps out from his blanket nest. “Did you…?”

 

Yuuri nods. “Mhmm.” His smile is small, private, but it warms Viktor somewhat. “Tea with jam. I thought it would make you smile, maybe.”

 

The gesture doesn’t quite make Viktor smile, but he gratefully takes the mug. Yuuri is usually very vocally opposed to how Viktor takes his tea, and will only make it with jam on special occasions. Viktor didn’t realise that being a human slug was a special occasion, but he’ll take what he’s given. Yuuri offers a blue pill in his other hand. Viktor shakes his head. “Not today, it makes my head spin.”

 

“Vitya,” Yuuri’s tone is at once both reproving and sympathetic. “You need to take it. The dizziness passes in a few hours, you know that.”

 

Viktor shakes his head again, not caring that he appears petulant. He already feels broken, every nerve ending stripped raw, and he can’t stand the thought of stumbling around his house, more proof that he’s damaged goods.

 

“Please?” Yuuri asks again, just shy of pleading. “We don’t have to get out of bed, you can just take it and we’ll stay in here.” He pushes the hand holding the tablet forward.

 

Viktor stares at the blue pill for a few moments, and then nods. He swallows it with a mouthful of water from the water bottle beside the bed, and burrows further into the covers.

 

“Just let me change, and I’ll join you, okay?” Yuuri says. He slips into the walk-in closet, and Viktor can hear the gentle _shh shh_ as he disrobes. Yuuri emerges from the closet in comfortable sweats, and sits on the edge of the bed. “Shove over, and give me some blanket.” He requests around a smile.

 

Viktor obliges, and when Yuuri is tucked in, he pulls the covers over their heads. Viktor feels a bit better for being surrounded by the blankets, pacified by the illusion of being safe and alone with Yuuri. He can block out the rest of the world in here, bring everything down to the sound of their breathing and the warmth of the covers. Yuuri rests his arm on Viktor’s stomach and pulls him closer.

 

“I wish I was manic.” Viktor mumbles forlornly.

 

Yuuri strokes Viktor’s side with his fingers, too light to be ticklish. “Do you really?” He starts drawing little interlocking circles. “Remember last time, when you trained so hard you gave yourself muscle strain and couldn’t skate for a week?”

 

Viktor grumbles in protest. He didn’t mean it literally, but Yuuri always takes everything literally when he’s in a slump like this. There’s too much potential danger to deal in metaphors and double-speak. He guesses he’s grateful for Yuuri’s diligence. “Anything is better than this.” He responds.

 

Yuuri’s eyes go soft, and he presses a kiss to Viktor’s nose. “Love you.” He doesn’t need to say more than that.

 

Viktor nods, too drained to say it back just yet. His voice is thick when he asks “Tell me about your day?”

 

Yuuri’s hand trails up to dance over Viktor’s chest as he talks about his practice that day, the quad salchow he flubbed, the step sequence he mastered. He tells Viktor about how he found a box of chocolates in his locker, only to open it and find it to be empty, one of Yurio’s more juvenile pranks that he had been pulling lately. He describes the Snapchat he got from Phichit, who was thinking about costumes for next season. All the while his fingers walk across Viktor’s chest, finally resting over his heart.

 

“Are you up for a bath?” Yuuri says after a while. “I’m still a bit gross from practice today. I only had a locker room shower, and they’re never good enough.”

 

Viktor isn’t really ready to leave his blanket nest, but he doesn’t feel too dizzy, so he doesn’t really feel like he has an excuse. His hair is probably incredibly greasy and he doesn’t think he could wash it without Yuuri there to help him. He nods feebly. Yuuri extracts them from the covers and Viktor has to lean on him as they walk to the bathroom. Viktor slides to the floor, with his back against the large tub, as Yuuri fills it with warm water. The sadness that has taken root inside him is like a physical ache, dragging him down. He feels like he has been skating for hours, like he’s fallen on his ass several hundred times, but in reality he has spent the whole day stuck in bed. He feels pathetic. He doesn’t understand why Yuuri is with him, today and in general. There’s nothing Viktor can give him.

 

Yuuri taps him on the shoulder when the water is ready, and Viktor pulls himself out of his fugue. Together, they make light work of his clothes. The water is just a touch too hot when he lowers himself into it, but he relishes the way it wakes up his nerves. He can’t hold back a wince, though.

 

Yuuri sees the face Viktor pulls, and instantly frets. “Oh, did I make it too hot? I’m sorry, you always say I take my baths too hot, I should have had you test it. Do you need me to put more cold water in? Are you okay?” Yuuri draws in a breath, stills his hands on the rim of the tub. His expression turns embarrassed. “Sorry, I’m panicking, aren’t I?”

 

Viktor schools his face into a smile that he hopes looks forgiving. “It’s fine, Yuuri.” He brushes a hand down Yuuri’s arm. He lets his fingertips trail over the twin rings on Yuuri’s finger – wedding and engagement – and draws a bit of comfort from the familiar metal.

 

Yuuri joins him in the water after removing his own clothes, and it’s nice how nudity can be comfortable between them. It’s not the utilitarian disrobing in changing rooms, where he averted his eyes, nor is it the charged nakedness of sex, where he was hungry for each new inch of skin that was revealed. He does not need to avoid looking at Yuuri, but doesn’t feel like he’ll burn up if he looks away either. This is unlike baths Viktor has taken with the casual flings of his youth. Yuuri’s hands are gentle, holding him up, rather than pressing greedily into him. Yuuri takes no more than Viktor is willing to give. There is no urgency, no subtext, just warm mugs of tea sitting on the edge of the tub, where in the past there had been champagne flutes or shot glasses. Viktor lets himself lie back against Yuuri’s chest, feeling safety wash over him.

 

“Can you wash my hair?” Viktor asks, feeling inexplicably vulnerable.

 

He feels Yuuri’s voice vibrate through him. “Of course.”

 

Yuuri’s beautiful fingers massage the shampoo into his scalp, and he is careful not to let the suds drip into Viktor’s eyes. Viktor lets himself get lost in the gentle pressure. For the next few moments, he doesn’t have to do anything. He can just let go. With cupped hands, Yuuri rinses away the shampoo. He laughs.

 

“I don’t know which conditioner you use.” He admits, gesturing to the excessive sprawl of products.

 

Viktor has to fight to keep his eyes open, but he selects his preferred one and hands it to his husband. Yuuri accepts it, pressing a kiss to the shell of Viktor’s left ear. He repeats the process, smoothing the conditioner over the ends of Viktor’s hair.

 

When Yuuri washes that away, he lets out a pleased huff. “Looks shiny.”

 

They let the water get colder around them, and when Yuuri starts to shiver, they towel off with fluffy, monogrammed his & his towels that Christophe had insisted they buy last time they went shopping together. Yuuri had been embarrassed at the price, and Viktor had appreciated the theatrics. Now, Viktor lies back down in bed, clad only in a clean pair of boxers, while Yuuri goes to fix up something for dinner. He returns when the chicken is in the oven, his presence a momentary balm to Viktor’s aching emptiness.

 

“Thank you.” Viktor manages to whisper. It is at once all and none of what he wants to say. He means to say _I love you_. He means to say _Don’t leave me_. He means to stay entirely silent. “You didn’t have to do this.” He swallows around the other words that stay caught in his throat, but Yuuri knows what he means, can hear what remains unsaid.

 

Yuuri lets a pause hang between them, until he is sure that Viktor isn’t going to say any more. “The way I think of it,” Yuuri begins, staring off into the distance. “You give me everything I’ve ever wanted. And I don’t mean this house, or the fancy dinners, or even the medals. I mean, you give me your laughter, and your sneezes, and your tears.” He grips Viktor’s hand at that, squeezing it tight. “I’m grateful to be in your life, Viktor. I’d do anything to stay.”

 

Tears have started spilling down Viktor’s cheeks, but his chest doesn’t feel tight like it does when he’s about to sob. Yuuri holds him, because Yuuri loves him. He knows that it won’t fix him, won’t make everything better, but it is the closest he’s ever come to being whole.


End file.
